((USS Gilroy, Cargo Bay 2))
Cdr Zallen was one of the long serving cohort of Lathanite officers within Starfleet, and a logistician by trade. Like many others of his species he supplemented his nearly 200 year affiliation with Starfleet with the occasional sabbatical and brief stints voluntarily on reserve status just to ‘mix things up, and stay fresh’. When the chance to get out of the logistics office aboard Framheim Station and head to the frontier arose, he immediately volunteered. After being tapped to plan the construction and command the forward logistics depot he submitted a memo that included a brief on best practices, streamlined supply transfers, a field safety plan and a contingency procedure that would allow extra versatility based on the condition of the abandoned Romulan outpost at the site.
Now it was time for him and his small team to put it all into practice.
“Oh Captain, I was just going to send you a message about the transporter schedule for our initial deployment. I’d like to get the portable generators moved up to be sent down with the pressurized iso-liners, scans of the surface are showing that the structures are in pretty rough shape.” The multi millenia old supply expert said as the Gilroys captain.
Captain Jericho Sands listened with an appreciative smile. He loved the buzz of a busy cargo bay. He scanned the room, watching his crew and guests work together on the grand puzzle of moving items from point A to point Z.
“I don’t think that’ll be much of a problem,” the human captain offered. “It’ll push everything back by a few minutes, but nothing unmanageable.” He chuckled to himself, tapping on his PADD and approving the change. “Though, I will leave it to you to deliver the bad news to my transporter team that their dutifully build schedule is about to change for the forty-second time today.”
“I never mind being the bad guy for the greater good, sir. It’s also looks like none of the original modular buildings are going to be usable. Would it be possible to have an extra half dozen members of your crew added to the advance party to help erect some new temporary structures? We should only need them for the first few hours.” Zallen had ascribed to the axiom to ‘keep asking until you get back to back denials’.
Sands met the question with a furrowed brow. “That’s a big ask.” He appreciated the request – Zellen clearly new what he needed for peak efficiency. But just because he would have asked the same didn’t mean he could necessarily honor the request. The captain shut his eyes and began running a mental inventory – reviewing his duty rosters and cross-referencing them with the near-infinite todo list he’d been tasked with. Eventually he landed on an acceptable answer.
“I can offer you three additional crew members,” he said. “I’ll also detail 2 pilots to transfer your 2 assigned shuttles down to the new outpost.” Sands smiled, folding his hands behind his back.
“Thank you sir, thats greatly appreciate. We’re ready begin the operation as soon as we enter orbit.”
((USS Hurricane, Ready Room))
The grey haired Ambassador Krey sat across from his host as they discussed the situation at hand, and the mission they had been handed. For Krey, a final feather in the cap, milk run of a first contact assignment with the Soval, had ballooned into an emergent situation the Starfleet had deemed worthy of ‘prioritization’. The dispatching of a half a dozen starships and the deployment of a forward logistics outpost beyond the frontier of the Shackleton Expanse made the seriousness abundantly evident.
Ever the diplomat, after the usual pleasantries and a quick rundown of the sitrep, Krey broke the ice on the missions ‘supplemental orders’ that described the chain of command and delegation of responsibilities.
“So about these supplemental orders that say I shall take command of the mission when and if we do make contact with representatives from this Kleptarky…I want you to know it wasn’t my idea at all, but as far as I’m concerned, even if that ends up happening, I have no intention of usurping your in terms of tactical command of the vessels in our charge for the remainder of this mission.”
Captain Raku flashed an uneasy smile. “Don’t worry. I have no concerns with you handling negotiations.” His voice carried a calm resolve. “Aside from that, nothing will change. If you need them to do something, I will give them the orders that best suit your needs. I also think each ship’s commander will do a great job at guiding their teams. My role is just to help coordinate everything out here.”
The Bajoran’s mind wandered back to the recently freed vessel. “I’m just glad the warbirds were able to get the Soval out of there. It makes me wonder about this Kleptarky. Has Starfleet found out much more about them since the incident? I remember hearing about a few initial reports.”
“No, Aside from those initial reports and the historic Romulan reports about a species known as the Nanirs in this region, that may or may not be the same species, that’s all we have to go on. My staff if preparing a subspace communique that we will send out in the clear, and hopefully they’ll respond. But either way the patrol schedule in our mission orders should be the priority, we cant have any more of our vessels becoming trapped like the Soval.
((Malem, Bridge))
The Commander methodically tapped the index finger of his left hand on the armrest. He was frankly annoyed, his vessel had been reprovisoned less then 3 months ago, and with the vessels singularity core they could easily operate for several more months. With their singularity core, they only used dueterium for cooling and moderation of core, and even then, only a secondary system. They were more then capable of accomplishing the two week long patrol that their orders called for.
“Shall we signal the flagship and request permission to embark on our patrol?” The wise Reman Commander said to his XO, keen to here his insight as a long serving Starfleet officer.
“If our intention is to begin our patrol without reprivisioning at the new depot, and not assist in the re-construction of said depot.” The Vulcan, Viran took a few steps closer to the centre seat.
The Commander’s finger tapping stopped at this, “Does Starfleet expect us to assist in refurbishing the old Star Empires dilapidated recon outpost, without orders to do so?”
“Starfleet orders often imply many things without outright stating them, their style of operating with a decentralized, delegated chain of command often leaves latitude for ships Captains to operate as they deem neccesary sir.”
“Indeed. Have the chief engineer join us in the transporter room. Lets go and see the old imperials former outpost for ourselves.” He stood and he and Viran departed to head down to the surface.
((USS Appalachia))
Passive sensors across the small flotilla would have caught it first, an energy signature consistent with a vessel closing at high warp. A few moments later, a flash of light appeared in the firmament – the telltale sign of a starship dropping out of warp – then resolved itself into the compact form of a Steamrunner-class starship. Navigational thrusters fired as the newcomer altered course, her heading now an intercept trajectory for the small flotilla. On the dorsal surface of her primary hull, just forward of the bridge module and between the leading edges of the large cowlings that covered her Bussard collectors and mounted her nacelles to the hull, one of her running lights bathed her nameplate in its arc: ’USS Appalachia’, and beneath it ‘NCC-52136’.
On the bridge of the Appalachia, Commander K’lev stood from his seat and stepped forward to stand between the helm and navigation consoles, resting his right hand on the latter as he looked at the tableau on the viewscreen: there, drifting in orbit with the great arc of the planet behind them, floated the impressive form of a Typhoon-class vessel, accompanied be several smaller ships. The presence of a California-class vessel among the group warmed K’lev’s heart, bringing back memories – some more pleasant than others – of his time on the Culver City, and he smiled as he saw the winged form of a Malem-class bird of prey drift across the planet’s sunlit surface; glancing down at Lieutenant Riala Sarai’s navigational display to see who each ship was, he chuckled as he saw that the bird of prey was the RRW Malem herself. I’ve gotta tell Commander Temoris about this later, he thought to himself.
Lieutenant Commander Lotharys joined him there, standing close to him as they both looked at the viewscreen. “I wonder what we’ll run into this time?” she mused aloud.
K’lev shrugged. “Who knows? Should be fun, though.” With that, he turned to face her. “And don’t worry, I promise we’ll try to do some actual science on this one,” he finished with a twinkle in his eye.
Lotharys laughed. “And don’t go thinking I’ll let you forget that promise,” she teased back, as the duo returned to their seats.
Once seated again, K’lev took a deep breath. “Hey, Tiza, send a message to the Hurricane; let’s see where they need us.”
As Lieutenant (jg) Tiza set to composing and sending the message, Appalachia closed on the little formation, taking up station on the outer edge until told otherwise.
Just before they entered the formation the Appalachia recieved orders to join in the patrols that the adhoc squadron had been assigned.
10 minutes later the IKS Slivin decloaked and also rallied with the group of starships. Indeed this would be a fully joint operation with representatives from all three of the main members of the Alpha Alliance.
